


devil's bargain

by sardonicynic



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 04:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12719949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sardonicynic/pseuds/sardonicynic
Summary: Claire takes an actual sick day. Her friendly neighborhood vigilante takes notice.





	devil's bargain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bat, who requested Claire-centric ficcage with the prompt _deal with the devil_.
> 
> Nebulously set during the first season of _Daredevil_ , somewhere after "World on Fire" and before "The Path of the Righteous." 
> 
> Unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own.

"Claire?"

Matt's voice registers — low, dim — through the cottony filter fuzzing her brain, but Claire can't muster the energy to open her eyes.

Jesus, she's so _tired_.

His hand is a warm reassurance against her cheek; she nuzzles into his palm, shivering with the small movement.

"Claire."

Insistent, now: clipped, crisp.

"Ugh," she mumbles, burrowing deeper into her pillow.

_"Claire."_ Both hands gently cradle her head, as carefully as he might hold a trauma victim, or a newborn. "You're burning up."

"Mm." She nods, or at least _thinks_ she does, shivering again. "I know."

"You — you do?"

"Flu season for us regular people." Her voice is thick, chalky-hoarse. "S'all over the hospital, so. Yeah."

He smooths her hair back from her sweaty forehead; she murmurs in wordless appreciation.

As his touch trails to her jaw and throat — checking her lymph nodes and her pulse, no doubt — she draws in a deep breath, and exhales slowly.

"Matt." Her tongue is an obstacle in her mouth. "You hurt?"

"No."

Her eyes blink open at last; his face swims above her, a blurry kaleidoscope of light and shadow. The corners of her vision yellow as she tries to focus, and she has to let her lids close against the sickening swirl that follows.

"If you're going all stubborn and stoic on me — "

She hears the rumble of his chuckle, feels the fan of his breath against her cheek.

"I'm not." His fingertips fall to her collarbone, raising goosebumps on her clammy skin. "Ran into Santino. He mentioned he hadn't seen you in a couple days."

She licks her chapped lips.

"My very own neighborhood watch, hmm?"

"Something like that."

She breathes a chortle that catches in her raw throat.

"Claire."

Eyes still closed, she lifts both brows.

"Mm?"

"You could've called."

She snorts, wincing at the dull ache that follows.

"Hit up the Bat phone to ... what? Say I'm taking a sick day?"

"Well ... yeah." She hears something in Matt's tone — something close to hesitation, maybe — that she's too exhausted to identify. "I could've brought you some soup."

That earns an actual laugh — soft and scratched, but no less genuine.

_"Soup,"_ she echoes, mostly certain this entire conversation is a fever dream.

The pad of Matt's thumb sweeps along her jawline.

"Hey, I'm serious. Not just about the soup. About the — the calling, if you need something."

Her forehead creases.

"And if I don't need something?"

"Well, what if you _want_ something?"

She's smiling to herself, now; from the timbre of Matt's voice, she's pretty sure he is, too.

"What could I _possibly_ want from the man in the mask?"

"Laid up like this? Soup, of course. Maybe a grilled cheese?"

"Okay, you and the soup should get a room."

"Or tea. You want tea?"

"I want _sleep_."

Matt pulls the blanket and comforter higher on her shoulders.

"You know, they say doctors make the worst patients. Seems the same goes for nurses."

"I'll remember that next time you need stitches."

The backs of his fingers skim her blazing cheek.

"Get well soon, Claire."

She only manages a hum of acknowledgment before she's out, sinking fast and hard into the blackness behind her eyelids.

 

\- - - - -

 

When Claire shuffles into the kitchen for a bottle of water and more sinus meds, she finds two containers of soup — chicken noodle _and_ tomato — from her favorite diner waiting in the fridge.

She rolls her eyes, but she can't help a smirk as she retrieves her phone from the pocket of her robe, and thumbs in a number she knows by heart.


End file.
